


Early Days (series #1): Collection #3

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: Yet more stories about the early days in Paradise.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 45
Kudos: 19





	1. A Man Who Inspires

**Author's Note:**

> Story List:  
> 1\. A Man Who Inspires (2 parts)  
> 2\. Birds Of A Feather Flock Together (3 parts)  
> 3\. A Near Miss  
> ...WiP...

**A Man Who Inspires**  
Part 1 of 2  
Camille is reading an article about inspirational people and these words hook her eye…

 _“When you know someone dedicated to justice, above reproach, noble and dignified, honest and true, and this person is beset on all sides by envious people of much lesser moral fibre… well… if you’re a good person then you are drawn to their side. You want to help them, protect them, and perhaps rise to their level. Or try to. Not many succeed. That’s why there are so few heroes in this world.”_

She nods emphatically at this then skates her eyes across the room to where her someone is working diligently at his desk and she whispers low and fierce, “And the ones we got, we keep!”

On the other end of the room, he stills, suddenly feeling as if a hand has been laid on his heart; a kind hand, a gentle hand, a hand ready to clench into a fist, ready to defenestrate anyone so foolish as to dare hurt this heart. Anyone at all. Including the hearts’ owner. It gives him an unexpected shiver that isn’t totally unpleasant. For some unfathomable reason his eyes skate across the room to her and he experiences another little unexpected shiver. She is looking back at him over top a magazine with a steady gaze that jumps his pulse and hushes his breath. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t feel threatened or challenged. Not like before. Actually, truth be told, he hasn’t felt anything bad for quite a while now. No, lately, things have been different here in the office. And, right now, somehow, he feels sheltered. He feels… cherished. 

His brow furrows in confusion. _Where is all this coming from? It’s just Camille giving me her French moves once more. She’s either bored or she wants something._ He shakes his head in denial and resumes work once more, chastising himself for reading anything even remotely romantic into her look.

She lays down the magazine and stares at her desktop, bemused at her sudden thoughts. _Him. A hero? Well, yes, he is, of a sort. A hero in a suit, of all things! That suit. What’s with the suit? Well, it’s a sign, a banner, a flag, a beacon denoting respect and manners and law and order. It’s a promise; here is a man who cares and he will do whatever it takes to right the wrongs in your world._

She shoots him another swift look. _Yes, he WILL prevail. He WILL catch the perpetrator. He WILL find the guilty party and exact justice for the victim. I’ve seen him do it. I’ve been watching him do it for almost a year now. We can count on him, put our faith in him, because he will endure to the bitter end. For us. For our sake and the sake of this island._

She snorts gently and resumes her work but within minutes her fingers still because another thought has pushed its way in and she can’t shake it. _But what about him, hmm? Who rights HIS wrongs? Who can HE count on, put his faith in? He’s all alone and he must get tired of being the hero. After all, heroes are people too._ This thought bothers her. A lot. So much so that she jumps up and goes into the kitchen.

Minutes later, he is surprised by a hot steaming mug of tea silently gliding into view. He hurriedly folds up a scrap of paper to place beneath it before it lands on his desktop then shoves himself back into his chair and looks up at a strangely serious Camille. He tries to read her face but has to give up. She is truly Frenchly inscrutable… and a woman to boot… so not a hope in hell. “Well,” he finally huffs, “what’s all this then?” in a gruff bossly voice that hides his awkward uncertainty.

She shrugs a bit self-consciously, “Oh, I dunno, it just occurred to me that maybe you need a bit of taking care of, that’s all. You’re always so busy and you never take breaks or a walk or anything to de-stress… so… if I don’t take care of you, who will?”

He stares at her for a long moment then jerks his gaze down to the mug, lifts it, takes a sip, “Mmmm, not bad for a first try. It needs to steep a bit longer… three minutes for black tea.”

Her eyebrows rise ever so slightly, “Three minutes? There’s a formula? For TEA?”

He nods, keeping his eyes down, “Mmm-hmm, for all the teas; black, white, green, red, gunpowder…”

She sinks into a chair opposite and props her chin into her hand, “Do tell. I want to hear all about it.”

So, Detective Inspector Poole gets his break without realizing it as his Detective Sergeant coaxes an entire lecture out of him about Camillia sinensis aka ‘tea’, the elixir of life. 

She perks up, “Its scientific name is Camillia? Really?” A sizzly idea pops unbidden into her head. _He’s devoted to one. Might he be persuaded to look upon a similar name with equal devotion?_

He pauses momentarily, “Um, yes, really. That’s odd, isn’t it? Camillia. Camille. What a coincidence! Camille and Camilla are popular names back in the UK but you’re the first one I’ve ever met.” He shakes his head with a small laugh and repeats quietly while gazing deep into his mug, “Huh, Camille, Camillia, how odd.”

She falls back in her chair, shocked, staring at him with swimming eyes. _Not as odd as you thinking the same thing as ME! Oh, Richard, what do I say? What can I do to make you like me even HALF as much as what’s in your mug?_ She shakes her head in frustration, wondering if she should be wondering about this. After all, he’s the boss. Bosses are sacrosanct. Off limits. Verboten. Interdit. She resets her chin in her hand and gives him the once-over undercover-agent-style (covertly) AND French-style (very carefully). He may be ‘the boss’ but she’s never had a boss like THIS before!

When he hands her back his empty mug, she shakes herself out of this most unexpected reverie. “Thank you,” he says, “I needed that. It’s rather nice to be cozened a bit but it’s not in your job description to mother me, Detective Sergeant. Next time, I’LL make the tea… and why don’t you join me?”

She turns back from her walk to the kitchen, the mug still warm in her cupped hands, “Me? Tea? Um…”

He had been giving her the once-over English-style (behind her back) and looks away before she can catch him at it, “Mmm-hmm, why not? Try it. You might like it.”

She studies him for a bit, mulling this new and exciting thought over until it starts to feel a bit less foreign, smiling suddenly, “I’d like that, I think. I’m not too old to learn something new, am I?”

He flicks a look from beneath lowered lashes, “No indeed, no one is. Maybe we still have things we can learn from each other, hmm? Like good partners should, yes?” 

She strenuously quells the images his words have called up from deep within her libido (which is practically bottomless). She nods, “Yes, maybe,” and resumes her task of returning his mug to the kitchen. From there, she returns to her desk. He is already busy at his desk, their momentary camaraderie over, it seems.

But, it isn’t over. It’s just begun.  
END – part 1


	2. A Man Who Inspires - part 2 of 2

Part 2 of 2  
Within the week, their morning ritual is graven in stone. She tried his tea and found it not to her liking. Maybe, with time, she will come to appreciate the finer nuances of water-soaked leaves but, for now, she sticks with her usual mug of properly brewed strong island-style coffee.

Well. Almost. 

She now takes her coffee with a splash of his tea. Privately, she calls it ‘Angel Coffee’. And… totally against character and much to her amazement… HE now takes his tea with a splash of her coffee! Without admitting to it, he thinks of it as ‘Naughty Tea’. They make a big production of tipping these tiny splashes into each other’s mugs. They enjoy it immensely and are very serious about it. They toast one another and drink, just good partners, bonding as they should, in order to be better partners you understand, with no ulterior motives at all.

Finally, comes the day she decides she likes tea just as well as coffee but she likes it black. There’s a reason for this and he finds out about it when he sees her slipping something into her mug.

“What’s that?” he calls across the room, “What are you putting in your tea? Do you have a secret stash of milk?!!”

She shrugs guiltily, “Oh, it’s just something I started doing at home. It’s dried jackfruit.” Then her head shoots up, “What? You think I’d hide milk from you? How dare you?!! Don’t you trust me?”

“Fruit?!” he all but howls, “You’re putting fruit in your tea?!!” then his eyes flare and his head drops as he mutters, “Oh, no, of course not, you wouldn’t be that mean, would you? You’d share the milk if you had any, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry, that was a rude thing to say.”

She stalks to his desk, mugs in hand, “Yes! Of course I would! But shush, shush, it’s OK! I didn’t put anything else into yours, it’s just the way you like it, honest!”

He takes the proffered mug and sniffs, his eyes easing, “Well, OK, so long as MY tea isn’t polluted.”

She sits with an offended huff, “It isn’t, and this is MY tea so I don’t see why it should bother you.”

He grumbles, “Tea is tea. Not to be desecrated.”

She mumbles, “Except with milk, sugar, lemon, ginger, a splash of coffee…”

He hushes and gives her a cautious look, “Well, um, yes, I suppose.” He hears her hot silence and has to continue, “Yes, all right, you’re right. I shouldn’t be so rigid in my thinking, should I?”

“No,” she chuffs, “You shouldn’t. You have to open yourself to new ideas, new experiences, new…” She snaps her mouth shut. She’d almost said ‘new relationships’! She bites her lip. It’s too soon to suggest romance to him. If it’s one thing she’s learned in the past week, this is a man to be most carefully wooed! She completes her sentence belatedly, “… new ways. You’re on Sainte-Marie now. We have different ways of doing things here. Not that our ways are BETTER, mind you, just different.”

He nods grudgingly, “Hmm, so tell me, why dried jackfruit?”

She jumps right in, “Oh! It’s all tough and leathery by itself, too chewy, but once it’s in my tea, the tea gets slightly sweeter the more I drink. Then, when I’m done drinking, I have a lovely soft slice of fruit to munch as I wash the mugs. You should try it, you might like it.”

He frowns, recognizing his own words being echoed back to him, “Yes, yes, all right, maybe I will,” and that’s all that’s said on the topic… for the moment… although he DOES watch her happily consume her slice of jackfruit with a thoughtful air.

The next day, as he makes their tea, he calls over to her, “Where do you keep the jackfruit?”

She gestures over her shoulder with her pen, “Top right cupboard, little blue tin.” She is so engrossed in her work that she doesn’t hear the two little ‘plunks’ behind her. It isn’t until they are finishing their teas that she sees him staring into the bottom of his mug with interest. “What’s wrong?” she asks. He tips his mug towards her and she sees the jackfruit. “Ri-chard!” she trills, “You tried it! How was it?”

“Not as sweet as sugar,” he muses, “but you’re right about the increasing sweetness as I got nearer the bottom. It was nice. Each sip was a bit different. Rather a novel experience. I liked it. But now what do I do?”

She grins and tips her mug straight up, “You do this!” and her slice plops into her mouth.

A surprised laugh is forced out of him, “Oh! I couldn’t!” but he is tipping his mug none the less. The slice misses his mouth entirely and plops fatly onto his desk, fortunately missing any papers. They both sit silently, regarding the plump morsel. “Well,” he sighs, “so much for learning a new skill.”

“That’s OK,” she assures him, picking it up and smiling before slipping it between her lips at his utter astonishment, “Your mistake means I get two slices today so it’s all good.”

He drops his eyes, stares into his empty mug, mutters, “Well, I’ll just have to be more careful in future, won’t I? I’m pretty sure tea-fruit theft is on the books somewhere.”

“Mmm,” she muses, “and if it’s not, you can always pencil it in, can’t you?”

His eyes dart up to hers, “Camille! I would NEVER…!”

She reaches out, pats his hand, “I know, I know, you would never circumvent the law for your own gain. I was joking. I know you are a straight spear and above that sort of thing.”

“Arrow,” he sighs, “straight arrow, that’s the saying, not straight spear.”

“Oh,” she pauses then says, “Well, either way, you’re unbending and sharp, swift and deadly. A perfect weapon, what every Chief of Police should aspire to be. You know, I was thinking that not too long ago.”

He isn’t sure if he likes the images she’s suggested. He mutters a worried, “Thinking what?”

For once, she doesn’t notice his upset, “About you, being the hero, always on guard, always ready to defend the defenseless. That’s what made me bring you that first mug of tea. I thought maybe you needed a break from hero-ing.”

He jostles his mug in his hands, slowly turning it around and around, “Um, I’m not sure I like being called a hero. Or a weapon.” At her look he holds up a hand, “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment but…” He sighs, “It’s hard; being the stalwart, the bulwark, the seawall. These suits are so hot and the fans just push around hot air. I sometimes wish…”

She stands, “Well, I can help with the suit!” and she slips his jacket off in a trice, maybe a trice and a half as he makes an abortive attempt to stop her. She hangs the jacket up and looks down at him, hands on hips, “There! Is that better?” She sees the look on his face and assures him, “No, you still look totally official in shirt and tie, just less steamed. ARE you less steamed?”

He juts his chin out, rotates his head, smooths down his tie, “Um, yes, thanks, and you’re sure I’m still professional looking?”

“Yes, totally,” she avows then closes her eyes and shivers. _And half-dressed_ , she thinks. 

He takes a deep breath. Another. Then rubs his hands together, “Well, good! Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” she breaths low as she watches him take their mugs to the kitchen. Her interest piques when he walks through a shaft of slanted sunlight. For just a moment, the briefest fraction of a second, she thinks maybe she sees a faint outline of shoulder, the swell of bicep. Then it’s gone. After that, she finds little chores for him to do all over the station, many of them near a window or open door. She has to stop when she catches him giving her a suspicious look when she asks him to check out the west-most door for the third time to see if Dwayne or Fidel are returning. At the end of the day, she takes down his jacket and folds it over his arm, “There, you don’t have to actually wear it all the time, you know. Just keep it handy in case you need to don your armor.”

He smiles tiredly at her, “Yes, all right, I’m off. Good day, Camille, see you tomorrow.”

She watches him trudge down the stairs, briefcase stuffed full of work but looking slightly less dispirited than usual. “Good day, my hero,” she murmurs, “I hope you get some well-deserved rest tonight because I think tomorrow has a new agenda for me. A hero conquers but…” visions of his partial silhouette through his shirt wash over her and she grins, “… a hero can also be conquered. En garde, Richard! Tomorrow the wooing starts in earnest, I promise! Tomorrow, my Englisher, mon Anglaise.”

And she watches the sun set and waits for the new day to come to her.

END


	3. Birds of a Feather Flock Together - part 1 of 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start off 2021 with a gentle tale of friendship and acceptance...

**Birds of a Feather Flock Together**  
Part 1 of 3  
Officer Dwayne Myers comes in that morning quieter than his usual self. Oh, he gets his first mug of coffee as usual. He goes to his desk as usual. He even stows his hat and lunch as usual. Then he merely sits, sipping, shifting his gaze from co-worker to co-worker and back again like he’s weighing them.

He looks like a man puzzling over something fairly interesting.

Finally, his boss slaps down his pen and pins him with a bright eye, “All right, Dwayne, what is it?”

Everyone else jumps but Dwayne’s eyebrows just twitch. He knew the Chief would crack first because only the Chief has eyes in the back of his head, so to speak. He takes another sip of coffee before replying calmly, “What’s what, Chief?”

Now Camille and Fidel are looking up from their work (their peripheral vision isn’t 360 degrees, obviously) as Richard answers testily, “You’ve been studying us all with a very smug look on your face for several minutes now. Out with it! What bit of gossip are you contemplating?”

Dwayne’s face is the picture of innocence, “Me, Chief? Gossip? Oh, man, I don’t hafta make up any stories about THIS place! Town is more’n full a’ gossip every single day.” He sees his boss taking an alarmed breath and jumps in, “I was only thinkin’ over a survey I took online last night an’ got to wonderin’ about you people. Nuthin’ gossipy about it.”

Richard pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh, lord, please do NOT involve me on any of your late night date sites! I can barely keep up with procedural e-mails. The last thing I need is…”

A low deadly voice inserts itself into the quiet room, “The last thing YOU need is strange women bothering you.” At her boss’ more alarmed look, Camille pivots to nail Dwayne with very hot eyes, “You’re not talking about Lonely Singles sites, are you? You’d better NOT be… otherwise…”

Dwayne feels the icy vibes and hastily interjects, “No, no, no, nuthin’ like that! I don’t need help in THAT regard, I could start my OWN website, me. No, I took a Workplace Personality Test, just for a laugh, you know? But… it was certainly an eye-opener an’ I wondered where we all fit in, that’s all.”

Richard scoffs, “That stuff is all bollocks. People cannot be pigeon-holed higgle-de-piggle-de like that.”

Dwayne turns to him, “Funny you should say that, Chief, ‘cause it was all about birds.”

The silence of the big room holds for maybe a second or two before finely manicured hands are folded adesktop and now Dwayne has the undivided attention of Sainte-Marie’s top cop. Usually, this tends to make Dwayne squirm a bit. But not today.

Richard sees this, sits back mystified, “Well, out with it. How do birds and police officers compare?”

Dwayne pulls folded papers from his pocket and smooths them out, “Well, it’s kinda fascinatin’, there’s four bird types; Hawk, Peacock, Dove, and Owl. Now when I plugged in alla us…”

Dwayne is interrupted by an abrupt scoff, “Let me guess,” Richard says “Camille is the Hawk, you’re the Peacock, Fidel is the Dove, and I’m the Owl. OK, lesson over! Everyone back to work.” The pen is snatched back up with a bossy flourish and he is bent over his papers for several seconds before Dwayne speaks up once more…

… “No, Chief, YOU’RE the Hawk.”

The sound of penmanship halts immediately as green eyes slide into view, “Me? I’M the Hawk? Why?”

Dwayne nods firmly, “Oh, yeah, according to this, you’re the Hawk.” He waits a beat before saying, “I’M the Dove.” He then surveys the room with complete satisfaction. He has everyone’s rapt attention.

“What about me?” says a quiet voice. 

Dwayne chuckles, “You, Fidel, are the Owl.”

A clipped almost-howl yelps, “HE’S the Owl? Why aren’t I the Owl? I should be the Owl!”

Dwayne smiles, “Sorry, Chief, don’t take it t’ heart. After all, it’s just online bollocks, like you said.”

His boss is having none of it! He erupts from his chair and charges across the room, joined by Fidel. They jostle at Dwayne’s desk, looking down at the pages until they realize that someone is missing.

They all look to Camille. She is sitting very still, a slightly puzzled look on her face. She looks up at them, “That only leaves… the Peacock,” she whispers, her eyes widening, “I’M the Peacock? ME?”

Dwayne nods, “Yep, strange as it seems, you are most definitely the main Peacock in this room.”

Richard swipes up the sheets and makes for the breakroom table, “All right! I think it’s high time we read the pages over and find out what they REALLY say!”

All four bodies settle into chairs then Fidel jumps back up, “I’ll get us coffees. I think we’ll feel better with a nice hot mug in our hands so we can read this over and see what’s going on.”

“Oh, my,” ghosts his boss, “It says right here that the Owl often begins sentences with ‘I think’, prefers plenty of data, and will only make informed decisions.” He lowers the sheet and stares at Fidel who stares back a bit askance from the coffee pot.

Fidel shrugs jerkily, “Lucky guess.” Nevertheless, he looks a bit off-balance when he brings the steaming mugs to the table. As he sits, he says, “What about you, sir? Are you really the Hawk?”

Richard blinks then shuffles the pages and starts to read, “ _Hawk – your strength is delivering results._ ”

Dwayne slaps the table, “What did I tell you, hmmm? Hawk! That’s you.”

Richard is speed-reading, “Um… _natural born leader… in charge… gets things done quickly..._ ”

Fidel laughs with relief, “So far, bull’s-eye.”

“Yeah,” Dwayne grunts, “no wonder the Commissioner started givin’ us dead-lines, hey? It’s your own fault, Chief. I never seen you drag your feet, never once.”

Richard frowns, “ _Quiet and direct… dislikes small talk… thrives on change, stimulation, challenges, high pressure…_ ” He looks up, “Well, that last bit isn’t quite right. I don’t like stress at all.”

Dwayne sets his mug down, “It’s not about what you like, Chief, it’s about what you’re capable of… an’ we all seen you in action every day since you got here.”

Richard sees three nodding heads and gestures helplessly, “Well, SOMEone has to do it!”

Dwayne taps the tabletop, “Ex-ACT-ly, an’ that’s you, ain’t it?”

Richard continues reading, “Perhaps it is, now let’s see, um… _works fast… impatient when things go slowly…_ ” This earns a round of scoffs that he shrugs off, “ _… you set many goals… work several projects at once..._ ” He looks up, “Well, that’s standard operating procedure at any police station.”

Dwayne flips a finger, “Keep readin’, Chief, see what else you do.”

Richard’s eyes drop once more and he finishes, “ _Your chief desire at work is to be productive, deliver quick results, and make an impact on your organization._ ” He looks back up, “Well… well… that’s natural, surely? This whole page could be just a good guess, couldn’t it?”

Very quietly, Dwayne says, “Let me read the next page, Chief, if you don’t mind?”

Richard hands the sheets over and Dwayne reads out, “ _The Hawk has trouble dealin’ with ‘fuzzy thinkers’ an’ uncertainty, expresses anger aggressively, is embarrassed by others gettin’ ‘too personal’, wants to be appreciated for his accomplishments, needs to be more patient an’ a better listener as others cannot move at his speed an’ need more time to process information. He needs to take time to show people that he cares about them, to soften his style to avoid hurtin’ other people’s feelin’s._ ”

The room is VERY quiet as Dwayne’s voice fades and he reshuffles the pages.  
END – part 1


	4. Birds of a Feather Flock Together - part 2 of 3

Part 2 of 3  
Fidel can’t bear to watch his boss’ eyes jitter all over the room for one more moment and just has to speak up! “Well, that’s not bad at all!” he blurts, making his boss flinch as he gestures to the man, “The Leader can’t be worried about his followers. They either keep up or they get left behind.” He huffs then says quietly, “It’s really not that bad, sir. A bit harsh, maybe, but not that bad.”

Richard is frowning down at his hands, “Noooo, it’s not bad but…” he sighs, looks up at his team “… it’s not good, is it? I know I’m hard to work with. I always have been. Any team I was assigned to work with hated being saddled with me. It’s my own fault I got banished from England. I’m impossible.”

Fidel starts to argue but Dwayne holds up a hand, “No, Fidel, I’M the Dove so I’m gonna do my thing here.” He faces his boss, “You aren’t impossible, Chief, you’re the Hawk an’ Hawks don’t work so good with turkeys. It is their loss they didn’t see you for what you really are. Besides, you needed to come here an’ we needed you to come here so it all worked out for the best.”

“Thank you, Dwayne,” Richard mumbles, eyes down, “That’s very kind of you.”

Dwayne smiles, “That’s my job, Chief! Doves thrive on cooperation, team projects, an’ mutual support, which I get here every day. I’m rarely in a hurry…” here he shoots a sassy eye to Richard “… unless I got a Hawk on my tail.” Richard lifts an encouraged eye and huffs a quiet laugh, feeling a bit better now. Dwayne nods, “Yeah, I reckon all Doves need a Hawk to counterbalance our easy-goin’ style.”

Fidel laughs indulgently, “Well, that’s YOU described to a ‘T’!”

“Yeah,” Dwayne sighs, “my main desire is to be part of a harmonious, productive team. I don’t wanna be overlooked or ignored, I wanna be appreciated for being of service, AND…” he pauses dramatically before finishing, “… I hafta be ready to take on leadership roles when I’m needed.”

Richard clears his throat, “Well, you’ve been doing that, haven’t you? You’re not the same officer I met here on my first day.”

“No, he’s not,” Fidel says, thinking back. “It’s true, Dwayne, you’ve changed. Maybe there’s something to this survey after all.” He pauses briefly then says, “What about me? I’m the Owl, you said?”

Dwayne nods, pulls a page out of the pile, “Yeah, the Owl, _practical with attention to detail, objective, analytical, an’ logical._ You hate makin’ mistakes or bein’ wrong, you think a lot before you say anythin’ an’ you don’t like small talk either, same as the Chief.” Fidel smiles happily at this. Richard notices and smiles secretly to himself as Dwayne continues, “ _You are a steady, methodical worker, thorough an’ attentive, step-by-step, an’ you keep a neat work area._ ”

At this, everyone turns to look at Fidel’s desk (‘Office Beautiful’ could use it for a centre-fold). Everyone turns back to the table, nodding and smiling. Fidel blushes slightly then sits up proudly. So be it! He’s the Owl and proud of it! “Does it say anything else?” he asks Dwayne.

Dwayne nods, “Yeah, your future holds more responsibility an’ autonomy.”

Richard taps Fidel on the shoulder, “Yes, Fidel, you will be ‘the Chief’ one day. Sooner rather than later if your resolve doesn’t waver.”

Now the men sip their coffees thoughtfully, mulling over the survey’s surprising accuracy.

Then Richard’s eyes glide carefully to his left and he coughs politely, “A-hem, and what about Camille? You haven’t mentioned her yet.”

Dwayne sorts through the papers, picks one out, “Well, yeah, a’course! Let’s see now. _The Peacock is lively an’ entertainin’, always encouragin’ others to have fun._ ” Three dark pairs of eyes dart up to the head of the table but the suit pretends not to notice as Dwayne continues, “Yeah, Peacock don’t hide her feelin’s, _speaks quickly, holds other people’s attention with dramatic style, an’ thrives on change, novelty, an’ fun._ ” Heads are bobbing around the table, even hers. “ _You work quickly an’ get impatient if things go too slow or get borin’._ ” Heads bob harder now. “ _You need freedom from rules an’ prefer to look at ‘the big picture’. You have trouble dealin’ with authority figures…_ ” 

Green eyes and brown eyes almost collide at this but they manage to ignore one another yet again.

“ _… you express anger by getting frustrated or attacking…_ ”

This time the clash of green and brown is almost a direct hit yet they somehow manage to avoid actual eye-contact… but it’s a near thing.

“ _… an’ your exuberance can sometimes overwhelm others so you need to rein in your energy an’ allow others to express themselves._ ”

This time only one head bobs and she notices and makes an immediate resolution to be less overwhelming in the exuberance department, especially where a certain suit is concerned.

Dwayne tidies the little pile of pages and sits back, “So, that’s us in a nutshell, isn’t it? Now, none of us is strictly one type of bird, you understand. Chief, you’re Hawk an’ Owl almost equally.” 

Richard brightens, “AM I? Oh, good, I was feeling a bit mis-pigeon-holed there for a moment.” He looks to Fidel, “Maybe Hawks start out as Owls and grow into it, hmm?”

Fidel ducks his head, “Maybe, sir. It’s a good combination, I think.”

Dwayne nods, "Yes, aye, Fidel's mostly Owl but he's gotta lot of Hawk in him too." Then he waves a hand at Camille, “Same as you an’ me, Sarge, we’re almost mirror images too. I’m Dove-Peacock an’ you’re Peacock-Dove. Funny how we seem to mesh so tight. None of us is one thing or the other but a blend a both.”

Richard thinks about this, “And how does this blending work out?”

Dwayne takes a deep draught of coffee and says with great pride, “It works out that we are the best team a cops that we could ever be. An’ we’re only goin’ to get better ‘cause we reinforce one another perfectly. I can only speak for myself but I’m very proud to work with alla you. Just so you know.”

A pleased embarrassed silence falls briefly before Richard claps his hands and stands suddenly, “Well! Good! Fine! Hawk says it’s time to get back to work. Thanks for this thought-provoking discussion, Dwayne. I, for one, will work on my people skills and…”

Her hand is on his suited arm, just a friendly touch but he feels it all the way to his heels, as she murmurs, “And that’s the Peacock’s job, isn’t it?”

Dwayne sees her intense eyes, sees the Chief’s tense posture, “Well, birds of a feather flock together, everyone knows that old sayin’… an’ it got to be an old sayin’ ‘cause it’s true, I reckon.” He shoos his superior officers back to their desks, “Yeah, you two just go about your daily business of running this station. Me an’ Fidel, we gotta do our town-round.”

Fidel pauses at the sink, “We do? But it isn’t even noon yet.”

Dwayne holds up a finger, “I hear there’s a pick-pocket workin’ the main street market. We can check that out then stop at Catherine’s for lunch. Whadaya say?”

Fidel smiles, “I say that sounds fine.” He turns to his boss, “You don’t mind, sir, if we go out a bit early? Would you like us to bring you anything back from Catherine’s?”

Richard is loitering beside Camille’s desk, casting nervous little glances down at her when he’s sure she isn’t looking, “Um, no, I don’t think so. I think Camille and I… we have things to do… to … um…”

Dwayne pipes up, “That’s great, see you, Chief, Sarge,” and he escorts Fidel out the door.  
END – part 2


	5. Birds of a Feather Flock Together - part 3 of 3

Part 3 of 3  
As the two officers clatter down the outside stairs, Fidel scoffs, “That was real neat, Dwayne, making them re-evaluate each other like that. If those two can learn to get along better, things will be much quieter at work, won’t they?”

“Yeah,” Dwayne agrees, “but I have higher hopes than that. Birds of a feather don’t just flock together, you know.”

“They don’t? What else do they do?”

Dwayne smiles with confidence, “SOME times they nest.”

Fidel’s head swivels around like a real owls’, “What? What did you say? Do you really think so?”

Dwayne chuckles, “You’re the Owl, YOU figure it out.”

Fidel walks with his head down, pondering, then muses, “So… you wanted to give them some time to discuss it? Maybe even start the romance?” He halts with a huff, grabs Dwayne’s arm, “Hey! Is there really a pick-pocket working the main street? There isn’t, is there?”

Dwayne grins, “You Owls, always right, ain’t cha? Besides, we get an early lunch so it’s all good.”

Fidel subsides in a contemplative manner and they resume walking. By the time they reach Catherine’s he nods. “You may be right, Dwayne, all the evidence points that way. You may very well be right.”

Dwayne gusts a hearty laugh, “Hell yes, I’m right! Let’s give them an hour or so then go back to see what’s what. Me, I’m more ‘n ready to encourage a little office romance if it keeps them occupied while I nap at my desk.”

“Huh,” Fidel scoffs, “some Dove YOU are.”

“Yeah, well, Dovey is as Dovey does. It says right at the top a my page… I like to think a lot about other people an’ relationships. I’m thoughtful, sensitive, carin’. I don’t like conflict an’ tension. So I’m just lookin’ out for my own best interests, really.”

“Yeah, Dwayne, you’re a real hero.”

Dwayne slings an arm around Fidel’s shoulders, “Fidel? We’re all heroes in our own way. My savin’ grace is I know it already. The rest a you still has to learn it.”

They saunter into Catherine’s, happy as larks, or whatever bird is most content and thankful to be exactly where they belong and are doing exactly what they love most to do.

30 minutes later  
“Dwayne, if it works out for them, what do you think their child would be like?”

Dwayne sputters beer and slowly puts down his bottle, “Fidel, that child will surely be an eagle. Let’s just hope we’re up to the task of helpin’ tame it!”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dose of reality here, I actually took this survey with a room full of people and we spent the rest of the session arguing over it… just like the team did.


	6. A Near Miss

A Near Miss   
He’d puffed his way through the streets on the eternal quest for tea right before the Dead Bride case! 

He’d almost given himself a heart attack chasing Gordon Foster down during the Leon Hamilton case!

And now? 

Now he’s huffing AND puffing, on the verge of another heart attack just trying to keep up with his team. He’s only just returned to work after recovering from his fever and he isn’t up to speed yet. _If I ever WAS up to speed to begin with!_ he grumbles to himself. _This damnable heat! The unremitting sun! The eternal humidity and bugs and heavier Caribbean gravity and strange food and…!_ At no time does his attire enter into this litany of woes.

He mops his face with an already sodden handkerchief. _Oh! All of it!! Every last molecule and atom of my life is sheer misery. Well, except for maybe one little thing that I can’t let myself think about for too long because then I can’t stop thinking about it at all and that way lies madness. Madness!_

Despite his whirling thoughts he hears a light step and has just enough time to school his face to neutrality as his heart thumps mightily before this ‘little thing’ saunters into the break-area and finds him slumped over his warming bottle of water.

“What’s wrong?” she bugles in worried tones. Then the hands go onto the hips, those trim rock-steady dream-worthy hips and now her tone is accusing, “You’re exhausted, aren’t you? Aren’t you?! I TOLD you and told you! You have to take more time off; you’re not over your fever yet. I hate to say it but you just aren’t suited for the temperate tropics. Aren’t you glad you weren’t sent further south into REAL heat?”

He gives over not-admiring her with his peripheral vision and breaks out in a totally knee-jerk sheen of fresh sweat, “REAL heat? Real HEAT!! What do you call THIS?” He swipes his brow with a clammy hand since that is drier than his handkerchief and wishes he were home in bed, no matter the temperature. _Oh, just to lie DOWN! Just to strip to my boxers and melt into a pale puddle! Heavenly!_

She smirks, crossing her arms, “We call it the ‘non-rainy season’. The rainy season is due soon. Which is exactly the same except the humidity jumps to plus 100 and the air gets too thick to breath. What will you do THEN, hmm? Curl up and die? Melt into a puddle? Give up the wool suits?”

He jerks at that, thumps a hand down onto the table top, “NEVER! The suit is who I am, what I represent! It’s a badge, a beacon, a warning, a testament.”

She nods, “I see. And if it kills you in the meantime, it can be your burial shroud as well.”

He stares at her for a long moment. _How can someone so irresistible be so irritating? She’s so French, so bossy, so commanding…_ He shakes his head, shutting down that train-wreck of a thought. He can’t think logically anymore. His mind is beginning to wander due to fever, obviously. He suddenly thinks he needs to get out of here and away from her otherwise… something… something might… 

Best not to go there.

He waves an irritable hand, stands, “Yes, well, be that as it may, you may be right. Perhaps I came back too soon. I wish it wasn’t so hot here, it’s changed my life completely.” As he fills his briefcase he muses low, “Do you know, I used to swim and bike and jog in my spare time? Incredible!”

She perks up at this, “You used to EX-er-CISE? Really? How do you keep in shape down here?”

There is a long embarrassed silence to join all the other long embarrassed silences with her. Finally he mumbles, “I don’t, I had to give it all up. It’s always too hot and I’m always too tired and out of sorts.”

“Mmm-hmm, well then, if you could, how WOULD you like to keep in shape? Perhaps I can help.”

There is a second long silence… except it isn’t silent inside his head! _With you!_ his inner voice shouts. _I want to keep in shape with YOU! I want to strain my every sinew for you! I would burst my heart if I could burst it for you. I would kill myself if it meant I could die in your arms._ His neurons finally crash under the avalanche of images flooding his inner eye and he simply stands mute, scuffing a toe of one highly polished brogue into a floorboard.

“Oh,” she whispers into the hot island air.

He looks up tiredly, “What?” He blinks. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear she is ogling.

Her stare softens, now she appears somewhat starry-eyed, “Well, um, OK, I think I’d like that.”

He frowns. _She’s going all French on me! I haven’t the strength to deal with this!_ “OK what?”

She gestures faintly, “What you just said…”

He frowns harder, “I didn’t say anything.” _Yep. Completely French._

Now she frowns in turn, “You didn’t? Are you sure?”

He groans. _I’m too tired and too hot and too damn HEAVY to play games_ , “Camille, fever or no, I would think I’m cognizant enough to know whether I just spoke aloud. Which, I assure you, I did NOT.”

She looks bereft, eyes starting to glisten for some reason, “Oh, because I… I could have sworn…”

He picks up his briefcase, gestures wearily as he starts for the door, “Sworn what?” _So French. So completely, totally, utterly, and enticingly FRENCH! I need to get out here NOW!_

“Sinew,” her voice whispers to the room behind him. “Burst your heart,” lower, closer. “Die in my arms,” sotto voce right at his back.

He clatters to a halt, staring out at the fiery sunlight awaiting him just a few steps away. _How could she have moved without my hearing her? Surely I haven’t gone deaf as well? How close is she standing?_ A shiver runs down his back, the first bit of cold he’s felt in these climes and he doesn’t like it much! It doesn’t feel as nice as it should. In fact, it feels like panic! _Did she SEE that?_ his mind gibbers.

“Reeee-charrrrrr,” she sighs right at his shoulder, “you’re trembling.” 

He swallows a fever-lump in his throat and lurches away from what feels like a tiny super-nova right at his back. If he weren’t so ill and obviously hallucinating, he’d almost imagine he feels fingertips brushing down his escaping suited arm. He blurts out loud, “Golly! Look at the time! Must dash! Time for my meds. See you bright and early tomorrow morning, Sergeant!”

And, with that, he is gone, stumbling and almost falling down the outer steps, hot sweat chilling his skin in a totally nasty way. He keeps his eyes forward and refuses to look back. There is NO way he is going to look back in hope only to see an empty doorway because there is NO way he said any of that out loud and there is absolutely NO way she would have responded positively if he HAD!

As he rushes away, seeking solitude and safety and sleep, he doesn’t look back.

Which is too bad.

Because if he had, he would have seen her watching him with the wide desperate eyes of a woman trying to decide if she should chase after him or not, dare to take a chance with him or not, roll the dice and risk everything with one throw or not! She slumps. He’s gone. She’s missed her chance.

She turns back to the station; her solace, her job, one of her two reasons for still being here on the island. She casts a despairing glance back over her shoulder though. Towards the OTHER reason for her being here on the island, the reason she is STAYING on the island. But… he isn’t ready. And neither is she… not really. She dreams about him and longs for him… but neither of them is ready. Not just yet.

But soon, sometime VERY soon, one of them WILL be ready. She has a strong feeling that it will be her that will have to make the first move because he is impossibly shy with zero self-confidence, zero confidence with women that is. She smiles at that. She likes the idea. In fact, she LOVES the idea.

Seducing Richard Poole.

It has a nice ring to it, n’est pas?

END


End file.
